


defect of the apex hunter

by uruhead



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uruhead/pseuds/uruhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe.... maybe it will hurt less this time..?</p>
            </blockquote>





	defect of the apex hunter

Will blinked his eyes open, foggy head and foggier vision making him dizzy and wanting to go back to bed. He realized that something wasn't right – an inkling at the back of his head that _maybe_ something wasn't right, that the sleeping pills he took sometimes didn't leave him this muggy in the… whenever he woke up and he didn't remember sitting down to rest, though _not_ remembering that wasn't quite as unusual.

A thin sliver of light drifted through the room, coming through the plastic blinds he didn't recognize. Not a lot of people had plastic shades anymore, he realized, or at least no friends of his used them. He tried to think, trying to figure out his surroundings with the distorted shapes and blurred colors that his eyes took in.

Will didn't even dare move the rest of his body. It was just instinct to try to take mental inventory before physical. He blinked a little more, trying to clear his eyes out and focus his vision.

His mind came back to him quicker as he opened his mouth, a sharp, shooting pain lancing up his jaw and into his temple – his mouth tasted like he had chewed on pennies and was dried out with salt. Everything hurt. Everything felt sore, bruised; Cerberus itself had come up from Hell and sunk its teeth into each inch of his flesh. His eyes closed and he tried to groan, but no noise came other than a pained sigh from within the confines of several broken ribs.

Will usually let his mind wander, let it roam into places he didn't want it to and lead his body with it. He focused acutely, counting:  _one, two, three, four…_

Keep himself present, keep himself awake. If he could keep his mind on something simple…

The bed dipped once he got to the fifties directly to his left. Will blinked open his eyes again, his vision still poor but not as much. The shape next to him was clearly human, the colors telling who was tending to him.

A warm, casual palm rested on Will's stomach and the person hummed, deep. The voice was rich like a risotto, caramelized and sweetened. The hand on his stomach moved up to Will's chest, fingers thrumming gently on his sternum.

Will smacked his lips, a sound far too loud for the rest of the room, and tried his best to speak, only coming out in breaths and in mouthed sounds.

“Haa….n...”

Tt was no doubt that the good doctor would be alive – what god or devil would want Hannibal? What person could look Hannibal in the eye after they knew what he'd done?

_If God nor Hell wants him, then what am I?_ Will mused.  _I want him. I want his… affection. Whatever cost that may be_ .

“Y..ou…” he tried, but no words came without a price. His ribs ached desperately and he only wished for the relief of sleep or morphine. Preferably both.

Hannibal hadn't moved yet, though his fingertips would occasionally drum at his chest like he was anxiously contemplating something. Will wondered if it would be easier to explain to Hannibal what he had done that night, the glimmer of the moon on the dark waters below, the glint of pure, obsessive passion in Hannibal's eyes once Will got close enough.

He had walked into the wolf's mouth, resting his neck between gnashing teeth, waiting to be executed – because what was a wolf to do but act on instinct? If a lamb were to be  _stupid_ enough  to trust a predator, let it reap the consequences.

Will's vision was not getting clearer. He blinked a few more times, scrunching his face though it  _hurt_ , God, did it hurt, but he wanted to see him.

Hannibal made a cooing noise, his hand finally leaving Will's chest to reach up and cup each side of Will's face. His fingers brushed gently behind his ears, the heels of his hands putting enough pressure to keep Will stationary. Hannibal's thumbs were careful as they swept away debris from Will's eyes, inner corners to outer corners, pulling at the eyelids tediously.

Pulling his thumbs away, he let Will coltishly open his eyes again.

Hannibal was bruised. His jaw had deep gashes on one side that were stitched shut, and a large medical patch was taped over most of one eye and his forehead. He would likely have a deep scar along the ridge of his forehead. His arm was placed in a sling and it was obvious that he was overextending its capabilities from the grimace on his face. It didn't seem as if anything was broken, though something dislocated – a shoulder, an elbow – would be likely. His hair was combed but draping lazily over one side of his forehead, dressed in a knit sweater.

Turning his head, Will saw the long tube he was hooked up to, fluids dripping down into his arm, and by the side of the bed he saw a drainage bag filled with cloudy, red-yellow liquid. His leg was in a makeshift splint, shin looking mottled like Monet had painted a pond scene gone wrong, and raised on a few pillows.

Hannibal watched Will for a second, his hands dropping back down – right arm back in his sling, left hand resting on Will's sternum again – and sighed softly. What words were to be spoken?

Will tried again, his eyes looking at the dark, ugly bruise beneath Hannibal's eye and the white patch over his eyebrow. He took a deep breath in, ribs creaking in utter disagreement, then croaked: “You selfish b-bastard...”

Will grinned as Hannibal's mouth twitched up, eyes filling with mirth. Every inch of him hurt, every damn bone, every damn organ, every damn nerve ending, yet seeing Hannibal sitting next to him, clearing out his eyes and making sure he was at least somewhat safe –  _somewhat_ – was enough for at least some of the hurt to go away.

Perhaps  if the lamb trusted enough, the bone-snapping truth wouldn't hurt as much.


End file.
